


And I Awoke

by Trobadora



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Fingering, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Restraints, Threesome - M/M/M, Vampire Bites, Vampire Politics, Vampire Sex, Vampires, fear kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-14 14:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14771489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/pseuds/Trobadora
Summary: In his nightmares, Sal was never restrained. He was simply helpless to stop what was coming for him. This was nothing like that.





	1. Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geckoholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/gifts).



It wasn't the chill that snapped him awake. Sal's nightmares were pervaded with cold - cold dark places, cold greedy hands and mouths, and the chilly aura that clung to any vampire - and his subconscious couldn't tell the difference. So he startled from his sleep only when his arms were suddenly twisted behind his back and a heavy weight settled on his legs.

He reared up with the rush of adrenaline, every sinew and muscle tensed and ready to spring into action, only to fall back onto his stomach, unable to break free.

Sal's heart hammered as he turned his head, straining to catch a glimpse of his attacker. The room was dark; a vampire needed no lamp to see. But the windows were uncovered, and in the dim light from the street lamps outside, Sal could see just enough. Jeremy. 

Jeremy: his friend, his partner, his flatmate, fangs extended and wearing a rather unsettling smile. It was Jeremy's weight pinning him down, Jeremy's hands that had him in a vice grip. Blood rushing in his ears, Sal bucked against him. The scars on his neck, his shoulders, his arms were burning in vivid memory. The last time vampires had got the better of him -

His vision clouded as panic seared through him, and he struggled blindly, desperately, against Jeremy's grip.

"Shhh," Jeremy said, gently.

Pain shot up Sal's elbow as his arm was twisted further, and he fell into the mattress again, panting harshly. Jeremy's hands were effortlessly implacable with vampiric strength.

Jeremy bent his head towards Sal's, and cool breath shivered over Sal's ear. "Don't fight, Sal. You know this is for your own good."

Sal let out a wordless, helpless snarl.

"I can't help you, Sal," Jeremy said softly, regret in his voice. "But I know who can. I'm taking you to Vasil."

Jeremy's grip shifted, and something closed over Sal's mouth. The inside of his head was swallowed by a fog, and everything went black.

  


* * *

  


_Dark and dank. He's shivering on the dirty floor of the fledgling vampires' hiding hole. It's probably not even that cold - he's still with it enough to know that. It's the blood loss, as much as the fledglings' own chill aura, that makes his bones feel like freezing._

_The others around him have gone still. Dead? Close to dead, anyway. They all are. Soon. Very soon. And after the death will come the rising. He hasn't the strength for it, and anyway there's not even bile left in his stomach, but if he could, he'd throw up._

_Everything hurts, but his neck and shoulders and arms are throbbing with bite marks, too many to be distinct. And soon the fledglings will come back. Soon, the mindless feeding frenzy will start again. Whatever blood is left in any of them, they'll drain it. And then ..._

_He can hear them moving just outside, the fledglings' snarls and their new victim's screams as sharp teeth tear into her, as they feast on her blood, glut themselves on her life, devour her soul._

_Something shuffles, moves. Comes towards him. Comes for him. Vampiric teeth gleam in the dark. He tries to summon some last bit of strength, and fails. The fledgling's mouth bears down for the bite -_

  


* * *

  


Sal woke with a gasp. One moment that nightmare again; then suddenly he was staring, wide-eyed, at Jeremy. His friend - his captor - looked up from a book and smiled. Sal's heart stuttered from the contrast, the shock.

He tried to jump to his feet, and couldn't. His wrists and ankles were cuffed to a sturdy wooden chair. Strong leather cuffs, too - not the kind you could easily get out of if you knew how. Wood too strong to break without leverage; cuffs he couldn't easily pick even if he'd had a free hand. Well prepared. Well planned.

Bizarrely, that braced him. He hadn't been restrained when the fledglings had him. They'd simply drained him too far, so he'd been too weak to resist. He'd been lucky to survive - fledglings, after all, were nothing but mindless ghouls. They hadn't yet consumed enough blood - killed enough people - to have awoken to any kind of individuality. Any kind of forethought. 

_Jeremy_ was not a fledgling. That shouldn't have been comforting, but Sal's staccato heartbeat slowed a fraction nonetheless. In his nightmares, Sal was never restrained. He was simply helpless to stop what was coming for him.

No, this was nothing like that. Jeremy was no fledgling, and neither, of course, was Vasil Sofiansky.

Across from Sal, Jeremy sat up straighter in his ornate, antique armchair, and let his book sink to his lap. "Ah, you're awake. That's good."

Sal pulled against his restraints out of pointless, helpless reflex, then drew in a shuddering breath and forced himself to take in his surprisingly sedate surroundings. It was an old-fashioned library, all dark wooden panelling and leather-bound books with their characteristic smell, and with the heavy drapes over the windows, there was no hint of the time of day. 

How long had he been out?

"Good," Sal echoed, grasping for a sarcastic tone and, to his relief, not entirely failing. There was an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Jeremy had chloroformed him, hadn't he? He glared.

Jeremy ignored both his tone and his glare, simply smiled and stood. "I'll let Vasil know."

This must be Vasil Sofiansky's house, then. Sal had been here before, for a reception, but not in this room. He could imagine it fitting into the old vampire's house, the place Vasil had moved to half a century ago, from which he'd exerted his influence over the town, and later, started his political career. Where he'd mentored young vampires newly awoken from fledgehood. Like Jeremy, fifteen years ago.

Vasil Sofiansky. Jeremy had really done it, had brought him here. Was handing him over to his once-mentor.

Sal had known Vasil for years, since he'd first moved into town. In a place like this, with an old vampire's residence, the Hunters' Division had to maintain a delicate balance, and social niceties involving said old vampire were a part of that. Of course that was likely also why Jeremy had been assigned to the Division here: he was not merely a vampire who'd turned hunter, but a vampire who'd been mentored by Vasil himself.

A vampire who, despite his opposing political views, was still on good terms with his mentor. That fact took on a rather different meaning now. With Jeremy gone from the room, the vampiric aura in the room had dissipated, but Sal shivered, nonetheless.

 _Jeremy Park, huh?_ he thought bitterly. _Should be Jeremy Sofiansky._

By an older tradition, it would have been. Jeremy's name was as self-chosen as any vampire's, but like many modern vampires, he hadn't taken the surname of his vampiric mentor, but had chosen to honour his body's former owner instead. The human who'd been the first person to die for Jeremy's creation.

That didn't make Vasil any less Jeremy's mentor, though. And now Vasil was on his way here.

Panic lashed through him, and Sal wrenched at his cuffs. He gained not one inch of ground. Breathing harshly, he let his chin sink onto his breast bone and clenched his jaw, fighting to keep still, before he could seriously bruise or abrade his wrists. 

All his agility and training were no use to him now. Most people weren't trained fighters, and so most vampires didn't awaken with those reflexes either. Few, like Jeremy, bothered to learn. Most instead relied on their natural advantages, strength and speed far superior to a human's. Which was why Sal, thanks to his training, could hold his own against a vampire, despite those advantages, often enough. But not now. He was trapped.

Coolness spread through the air, and Sal's skin broke out in renewed gooseflesh. He could hear steps outside, leather soles on wooden floors. 

_Just a chill,_ he told himself for the umpteenth time. A coolness that wasn't entirely physical, but felt just the same - it was nothing to be afraid of. What Vasil might do, what Jeremy might do, yes. But their aura, and what they were, in and of itself? Nothing to be afraid of. 

Yeah, right.

 _Just a chill. Just a small annoyance._ Most vampires - awoken ones, anyway - were perfectly harmless. Sal had never been bothered by them, not until ...

The door came open. Jeremy was first, and - damn - he actually turned and bowed his head a fraction as Vasil entered, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit. Jeremy never acted like that for anyone else. Hell, he was even wearing a button-down over his jeans, Sal suddenly realised. Dressed up for his mentor. 

They came closer, Vasil first and Jeremy at his shoulder, perfectly in step. Vasil had the kind of face people called 'distinguished' - dark curly hair streaked with silver, dark eyes, strong bones and strong lines - and its distinct features should have been expressive, but Sal couldn't read his expression at all. Nor Jeremy's, right now, for that matter. They were two of a kind, just like their almost identical bloodless complexions, slightly different shades of very pale, Eastern European and East Asian variations on a theme.

Vasil's aura was far more pronounced than Jeremy's. Sal thought he could feel it spread through his mind, covering it like hoarfrost. Forcing him to acknowledge its presence, above everything else. Or so it felt, now. It hadn't before, damn it all.

 _Stop being fanciful,_ he told himself firmly. But the feeling wouldn't go away.

Vasil stood before him, eyes flickering over Sal, from head to toe and back, and Sal suddenly realised he was wearing only the boxer shorts he'd slept in. He flushed, and something twisted in his belly.

He'd been more out of it than he'd known, if he was only noticing this now.

"Sofiansky," he snarled. It came out more defensive than he liked. Sal gritted his teeth, forced himself to meet Vasil's cool eyes. They were an unexceptional brown; he knew that. He'd seen the vampire in a brightly lit room, and on television under studio lighting. Too often, that last, what with all the campaign speeches Vasil had been making lately. He knew what Vasil looked like. But right now, his eyes seemed all dark, all black. 

"Salvatore," Vasil returned, declining to reciprocate the use of his last name. His mild accent made his softly spoken words sound sharper, somehow. "You're a guest in my house. Do be polite."

"And do you usually tie your guests up like this?" 

"Not usually, no." Vasil seemed amused. "Only when it's called for. And it is, or so Jeremy tells me."

"Yes, sir." Jeremy's eyes were on Sal, and despite the deferential, controlled response, the cool mask was slipping just a bit, showing worry. Pain. "I'm sure he had a nightmare, earlier. And he keeps panicking." His mouth twisted, and he turned to Vasil, beseeching. "This has to stop. I didn't know what else to do -"

In the face of that earnestness, that determination, something at the back of Sal's mind started gibbering. Whatever Jeremy was going to do, whatever he was going to ask _Vasil_ to do - he wasn't going to stop. Not until he had what he wanted, what he'd set out to achieve. 

"Calm yourself, Jeremy. We shall do our best." Vasil closed the last of the distance between them, came close enough to touch. Sal, instinctively, tilted his head back to look up at his face, exposing his throat. He immediately jerked his chin back down, staring at the buttons of Vasil's suit jacket and his expensive white shirt instead.

Gooseflesh rose on Sal's skin as Vasil's fingertips, cool and impersonal, brushed over Sal's arm, his shoulder, his neck. Over the scars there. He catalogued them as if he had plans for them. Sal shuddered. Whether it was the scar tissue or the veins and arteries running beneath that had drawn his attention, Sal couldn't guess.

Well. If he'd had to guess, he'd have said both. Both seemed likely.

"Quite the nest of fledglings," Vasil commented, pausing with his fingers resting lightly on Sal's chin. Jeremy was watching with an almost absent look on his face, but of course he already knew where Sal's injuries had been, and what marks they had left. "Surprising that he survived."

 _Cool vampiric hands on his skin ..._ Sal's throat constricted. They were talking as if he wasn't listening, and he couldn't even bring himself to protest.

"Very nearly a miracle, yes." Jeremy joined them and ran a hand over Sal's biceps. It was probably meant to be soothing, but was nothing of the sort. "Half a dozen fledglings, and he's alive only because they took him down right along the people he was trying to save. The other victims didn't make it. Sal was lucky."

Lucky, yes. When fledglings got the better of a hunter, the hunter rarely survived. If it hadn't been for the other victims -

But Sal's job was to protect civilians from that kind of danger, not to let them die for him.

Vasil's palm slid down against Sal's throat, and with a thumb on Sal's chin, he forced his head to tip back after all. Sal let out a desperate, panicked sound, and tried to cover for it with a snapped, "Stop it." 

It covered nothing, of course.

He stared up at Vasil's face - a face that hadn't changed in two hundred years. The lines on his face must hail from the time his body had been alive. They were deeply engraved, neither fading with relaxation nor deepening with stress and strain, had simply settled in for permanent residence on a face too young to be wrinkled with age. It was a face that spoke of a life, but not the life of the man wearing it. Yet it suited that man just the same, as if life had shaped a face that then, in turn, had shaped another life.

Sal forced his attention back to the present, and his body twitched with it. What was he doing? He couldn't afford to lose his grip. He'd already lost every other kind of control.

"Shhh." Jeremy squeezed his shoulder, gently. "You know why we're here, Sal. Do I need to remind you again that we're doing this for you?" And he managed to sound all wounded innocence, too. 

_This is for your own good,_ Jeremy had said, and Sal knew he'd meant it. Jeremy was doing this for him, was trying to help. It was bizarre and ridiculous and terrifying, but he meant well. Vasil ... who knew why Vasil did anything?

"Stop it," he repeated, helplessly, his throat working against Vasil's cool palm.

"No," Vasil said pleasantly, his fingernails digging into Sal's chin. _He_ wasn't gentle. Sal's stomach flipped, and he clenched his eyes shut. "Now, my dear, none of that. Look at me."

Stubbornly, Sal kept his eyes closed.

Vasil chuckled, low and dangerous. "No? Well, we can accommodate that, I suppose. You are already cuffed and unable to move. Shall we blindfold you as well? And perhaps a gag would not go amiss."

Sal gasped at the thought, the image. Unable to move, to see, to speak - oh god. What were they going to do to him? Panic shot through him, and he clenched his fingers around the wood of the armrests, bit his lip. His skin was entirely gooseflesh, and he was breathing rapidly. 

He didn't open his eyes. He couldn't. Vasil's gaze, Jeremy's - he couldn't meet them. He had to shut them out somehow. 

But of course _they_ were still seeing _him_ , and the knowledge only added to his panic.

"Does that sound tempting?" Vasil said drily. "We _can_ do that. Will do that, unless you speak."

Sal's mind was racing, going in circles. God help him, it _was_ tempting. He was restrained already; he was captive already. Not having to see, not having to speak, forced to be entirely passive - it would be easier, that way. Wouldn't it?

He was hyperventilating, he suddenly realised. And Jeremy was rubbing small, soothing circles on his back. He struggled to calm his breathing.

Vasil's hand tightened a little over Sal's throat, just at the moment when Sal was starting to get a grip. No calluses on those fingers, unlike Jeremy's weapons-trained hands. "You owe me an answer, Salvatore."

"No," he ground out, his voice raw, and forced his eyes open only to find Vasil before him, dark eyes peering at him. "No." No blindfold. No gag. No.

"No?" Almost mocking, but clearly his meaning was taken. "Very well, then. We'll be generous."

Sal snorted, astonishing himself - he hadn't thought he had any capacity for humour left, even gallows humour. "Too kind," he managed.

"But of course." Vasil's fingers played over the scar tissue on his neck. "We'll begin slowly. We are taking our time with you, my dear. Not too slowly, though. It's time for you to feel my fangs."

Sal stared at Vasil, all thought fled from his mind. He'd known - of course he'd known - but hearing the words ...

Every nerve ending in his body was on hyperalert, and awareness of Vasil's presence burned into him like ice, inescapable and _there_. Vasil's eyes on him were a physical pressure, Vasil's hand on his throat a horrifying intimacy. Blood rushed in his ears, and oh god, Vasil must be able to hear it, feel it, be drawn to its tempting flow.

Vasil was actually doing this. Was going to do this.

"You needn't worry," Vasil said. "You're already infected; another bite will do you no harm." He smiled, quick and sharp, for a fraction of a second only. "What does it feel like, knowing what will become of your body after your death, if they don't burn you in time? Knowing that in some years, a vampire might walk around wearing your face, knowing nothing of you?"

That thought was a familiar horror, by now. It was _in_ him, had been in him since the first bite, and he couldn't get away from it. Sal shivered. And beside Vasil, a queasy look came over Jeremy's face.

Vasil looked up and noticed Jeremy's reaction. He stood up straight and gave him a wry smile. "Are you certain you won't change your mind, Jeremy? He _is_ here to be bitten."

Through his shiver at the words, Sal could see Jeremy relax just a bit, and actually roll his eyes at his mentor. That had been the point, Sal understood with hysterical clarity: distracting Jeremy from Vasil's earlier words, the discomfort he'd unintentionally caused. A bizarre attempt at comfort.

"Very certain, sir," Jeremy said. Then he bowed his head again. Sal would never get used to that kind of formality from him, the respect that shone through the gesture, or the deferential address. "Thank you for doing what I can't."

For as long as Sal had known him, Jeremy had always insisted he didn't live-feed. Given what went into the creation of a vampire, he'd said, he simply couldn't bring himself to. Tied to a chair before him, Sal couldn't think of anything more absurd than Jeremy holding to that principle now.

But Vasil merely shrugged. "Won't," he corrected. "But that is your prerogative. You will not be idle, though. There are other ways for you to be useful here."

Jeremy's eyes flickered over Sal's body, familiar, possessive. "Gladly."

"Your choice." Vasil leaned forward until his lips were almost against Sal's cheek, until his hair brushed against Sal. The silver strands must have remained exactly the same since his body had died. "You've only had fledglings' fangs in you, my dear. Time for you to learn what a proper vampire's feel like."

He straightened and stepped to the side, then behind Sal, his hands resting on Sal's shoulders. Out of the corner of an eye Sal could see him make a gesture. 

Jeremy's eyes flickered over Sal's shoulder to Vasil, taking his cue from his mentor. A moment later he smiled, lowering his head and his eyelashes just a bit. He knelt before Sal's chair and took one of Sal's cuffed hands in his. Vasil's fingers stroked over Sal's neck as Jeremy lifted Sal's fingers from the armrest and bent over them. Sal stared, and his fingers twitched, itching to curl into a fist. He couldn't pull away, but he could do that. 

Jeremy's fingers tried to coax Sal's hand to relax, Jeremy's face hovering over it. Sal didn't clench his fingers.

"Jer," he ground out, and it came out confused more than anything. 

"Sal," Jeremy returned with a slight sarcastic edge, his cool breath shivering over Sal's fingers. His tongue snaked out, licked along an index finger. Sal sucked in a sharp breath.

Was this really happening? Jeremy was his friend. He couldn't be doing this. Could he?

Suddenly it was Jeremy's teeth - his sharp, vampiric teeth - scraping along Sal's index and middle fingers as he took them in his mouth. 

Sal gasped, eyes wide. _Fangs._ He could see them, feel them against his skin. _Cold hands gripping him, cold mouths closing over him, sharp teeth tearing into him ..._ He was frozen, terror locking him in place. Terror, and the irreconcilable urges to rip himself away, and to strain towards Jeremy's hypnotic, terrifying caress. 

He couldn't have done either, of course. He was trapped. 

And then - oh god. Vasil's mouth closed over Sal's neck, right on his pulse point. Sharp teeth grazed his skin in a cruel mix of threat and tease. Every muscle in Sal's body constricted, and his vision went unfocused with fear. All he could think of was fangs, sharp strong fangs, the bite that was to come. 

Slow, slow pressure. Pinpricks of sharpness like fire and ice. Then, suddenly, forcefully, Vasil bit down, teeth slicing into Sal's neck, a brief, stinging pain that faded to a drawn-out ache almost immediately, even as Sal let out a scream.

Vasil. It was Vasil, biting him, sucking on his neck, drinking his blood. It was _Vasil_ feeding on him, not a mindless fledgling. But there were fangs in Sal's throat, and it was difficult to think, almost impossible to remember.

Vasil's mouth on him, sucking. It rushed through him like a jolt of adrenaline, except pulsing, intense, overwhelming. Sal started to struggle against his bonds again, helplessly; Vasil clamped a hand around his head to keep his neck in place. How many others had he held for the bite, just like this?

Terror rolled over Sal as he was literally devoured, as Vasil fed on his blood. It shivered over his skin, pooled in his belly, heightening every sensation. Too much. And he couldn't get away -

Jeremy kept caressing Sal's fingers with his tongue and teeth, a different, separate stimulation, something gentle and erotic, something deliberate and sensual, entirely beyond a fledgling's abilities. Not that any fledgling's bite ever had been as gentle as Vasil's, as careful of his flesh. But there were fangs cutting through his skin, and that knowledge was distant, lost under the roaring of blood in his ears.

The counterpoint of Jeremy's mouth was enough - just enough - to keep him from drowning in it.

It lasted for a long time, or felt it, anyway. Vasil's fangs remained in his throat, hands holding him steady. Jeremy's teeth kept scraping against Sal's fingers, a bite that hadn't happened and wouldn't, but still was a constant threat. Terror swept over Sal in waves while he struggled to cling to rational thought, and a whimper tore itself from his throat, and still it continued, unchanged - not one bit more painful, and not one bit less; not one bit more tender, and not one bit less.

Eventually, it overwhelmed him, and Sal fell into it, swept away and lost. It pulled him under, a tender, painful terror, and carried him in its flood. His entire body felt flush with it, and he was too aware of everything. Not only the fangs, but the heat rising from his cheeks and pooling in his belly, the chill aura from the two vampires, their cool hands and mouths on his skin. 

Too much. It was all too much, but he couldn't fight, couldn't resist, couldn't find solid ground. It had him, and he could only let it take him, consume him, wash him away.

Vasil's fangs slid from his neck. His mouth detached; his hands let go. At almost the same moment, Jeremy let Sal's fingers sink back against the armrest and sat back on his haunches, a blurry vision to Sal's hazed eyes.

Awareness slammed into him again. Here and now. His heart hammered in his chest; his pulse throbbed in the bite wound on his neck. And horrifyingly, shamefully, Sal's cock was hot and heavy in his boxers, straining against the fabric.

A wordless, desperate sound broke from his mouth. Sal clenched his eyes shut, trying to will his arousal away. Trying to will everything away.

"Ah," Vasil said, not behind Sal, but from somewhere to his side, and when Sal chanced a look through his eyelashes, Vasil was looking right at Sal's crotch. His eyebrows had gone up, rounding the lines on his forehead. Sal winced.

Jeremy seemed frozen. "Er," he said. What was he thinking? Oh god, he shouldn't have to know this about Sal -

Finally, Jeremy blinked rapidly and came to his feet. His eyes narrowed as he reached out to cup Sal's cheek in his cool palm. "Sal?"

Sal wanted to flinch away. Wanted to lean into the touch. He bit his lips. 

"Shall we go with that?" Vasil murmured, almost to himself. 

"Sir?" Jeremy sounded unsure, and his hand dropped away from Sal's face.

"Really, Jeremy," Vasil chided. "Can you not see? You were entirely correct. He clearly does need a vampire's attention." He smiled, very sharply, down at Sal. "Don't you, Salvatore?"

Sal swallowed heavily, licked his lips, and tried to summon a denial. He failed.

"Oh," Jeremy said. 

"Shall we give it to him?"

Jeremy nodded slowly, looking as stunned as Sal felt. Then he rallied a bit, bowing slightly to Vasil. "I'm very grateful, sir."

Vasil nodded in return, regally. "Of course, Jeremy. I'm always glad to help you, my dear." Then he turned back to Sal, fingers brushing over Sal's shoulder. "I wonder ... what else do you need, Salvatore?"

Sal let out a shuddering breath, and clenched his teeth. Terror and heat flooded through him, an impossible rush.

"You can't say it, can you?" Vasil eyes flickered over Sal's face, and his minuscule smile was not a pleasant one. His hand was on Sal's shoulder, not gripping, merely lightly touching, and that was almost worse. A grip, Sal could have struggled against. "No matter. I shall simply have to guess."

Vasil's fingers trailed down the unbitten side of Sal's neck towards his chest, brushing over his nipple. Sal found himself trying to lean into the touch, and then flinched back with the shock of the realisation.

"Yes?" Vasil asked drily. 

His hand remained on Sal's chest, Sal's nipple moving against it with every breath. He couldn't make it stop. Oh god. What was happening? And worse, what else was going to happen?

"Jeremy." Vasil made some sort of gesture with his free hand, at the edge of Sal's field of vision. 

Jeremy nodded and crouched next to Sal's chair again, putting a hand on Sal's bare knee, looking up to study Sal's reaction. Sal was trembling.

"Sal?"

"Go on," Vasil said mildly, his fingers idly moving against Sal's nipple.

Sal bit his lip and clenched his eyes shut. Jeremy's fingers slowly, carefully, began to caress the inside of his thigh - first just above his knee, then sliding higher. And all the while, Vasil was playing his fingertips over Sal's nipple, and their combined vampiric presence shivered against his skin. A desperate, needy sound forced himself from Sal's throat.

They were doing this. They were really doing this. And Jeremy was seeing it all, was witnessing Sal's every reaction.

Worse, Vasil was, too.

Vasil moved behind him again, and Sal knew what that had to mean. His heart was beating in his throat, throbbing in his bite wound and in his cock.

"Now," Vasil said.

With vampiric speed, between one moment and the next, suddenly Jeremy's hand had closed around his cock, Vasil's had curled around Sal's head, and Vasil's fangs were tearing into his neck, opposite his earlier bite.

Sal let out a strangled noise, his hips surging into the touch even through the terror of Vasil's cold bite, his cock going from half-erect to fully hard in an instant.

Jeremy squeezed him, lightly, and he moaned. 

_Cold fingers, and a cold mouth on his skin. Sharp teeth tearing into him, a vampire drinking him down -_

He was trapped. There was no fighting this, no fighting them. No fighting himself. Sal was entirely vulnerable, entirely exposed.

Jeremy's hand played briefly with Sal's balls, then returned to his cock. A long slow slide of his fist around Sal; a thumb playing over the slit - and, oh god, Vasil's fingertips were pressing against his throat, not truly restricting his breathing, but just at the edge of doing so.

It didn't stop: not Jeremy's hand, not Vasil's fangs, not Vasil's fingers. Too much. Not enough. The world was spinning, and pulsing with coolness, flooding him through and through. It encompassed him, his body trembling with it, near to falling apart, anchored only by two vampires' touch, the terror of it pinning him into place.

His chest felt like bursting. His hips were rocking, trying to meet Jeremy's rhythm. His throat worked against Vasil's hand.

Then, in one quick moment on some unspoken cue, Jeremy _squeezed_ , fist closing around Sal's cock, thumb digging in hard just under the ridge, and Vasil's fingers shifted, suddenly pressing hard against the marks of his earlier bite. Sal's body seized, and he sobbed as his orgasm shook out of him like a shiver, long and drawn-out and frightened, the most terrifying release in the world.

 _How_ had he ended up here?


	2. Some Days Ago

There was a wet aftertaste in the air, recent spring rain on not-very-dry ground. It was just past seven p.m., and the stars were out. This early in the year, night was unavoidable, and at any rate, Sal wouldn't have avoided it, not even now. Darkness didn't exactly set him at ease - full sunlight barely managed that, these days - but neither did it send him into a panic. He could do this, could walk home at night from the Division's headquarters after a day of paperwork, and do perfectly well, so long as he encountered no vampires.

So long as he didn't think too much about the vampire waiting for him at home. Which was difficult, because damn, he _missed_ Jeremy. Missed the work they did together, the hunt, as well as just hanging out. They'd met when the Division had assigned them to become partners, and had hit it off.

Well, not immediately. Being partnered with Jeremy had been strange, at first. Not many vampires turned hunter, after all - even only to hunt fledglings, who were nothing but mindless killers, one exactly like the other with no individuality at all. Individuality only came with killing - with feeding on the blood and the souls of their victims. Until they had devoured enough souls that what remained behind in the fledgling amounted to a patchwork soul of its own, and the vampire awoke.

No, Sal hadn't trusted Jeremy at all, at first. A vampire turned hunter? Unusual. A vampire ready to hunt other awoken ones, if they preyed on humankind? Pretty damn rare. And a vampire who was all that _and_ had been mentored by Vasil Sofiansky, who was notably opposed to hunters of all kinds? Yeah, right.

But Jeremy had turned out to be exactly what he claimed to be, a vampire of strong convictions, even where they contradicted his mentor's. It hadn't been a year before Sal and Jeremy had ended up not merely partnered at work, but sharing a flat. They'd been a good match, in so many ways. Hunting styles and personal habits, fundamental convictions and daily routines, even tastes in TV shows - they'd simply fit together, and it had been a joy. 

Sal was in his early thirties now. Jeremy had awoken fifteen years ago - though god knew how long his body had wandered about as a mindless fledgling before - but vampires awoke from fledgehood with an adult's mind. Not to mention a random assortment of residual knowledge and abilities left over from the souls they had consumed, though no memories of either the original inhabitant of their body, or their time as a fledgling. 

They were not far apart, Sal and Jer, in either maturity or experience. And no one had ever fit better into Sal's life than Jeremy. Now ... 

Now, nothing fit any more.

Even at the start, suspicious and wary, he'd never had this _awareness_ of Jeremy's vampiric nature, this instinctive, visceral reaction to what he was. Now, he couldn't avoid it, and Jeremy's mere presence, that familiar cool vampiric aura, was enough to send him into a shiver, and all too often, to the edge of a panic. If they talked, these days, it was over the phone. 

But Sal hadn't given up yet. He hadn't moved out. He wouldn't.

It would go away, eventually. It had to. He just needed to get back into the saddle, that was all.

The streets were not precisely empty, though rush hour was past. Unusually for the hour, there was a steady stream of cars coming from the direction of the car park by the town hall, and a number of pedestrians as well, though those dispersed quickly as Sal went beyond the nearest bus stops. Some event must have just ended.

And, Sal thought sourly to himself, he knew which one, too. Across the street, illuminated by the streetlights, a large poster proclaimed:

_Vasil Sofiansky  
Town Hall  
TODAY 5 p.m._

'Today' was a strip of paper glued over the date, and above the inscription was the man's face. The vampire's face.

Sal glared in its direction. Thankfully, mere pictures of vampires didn't have any effect on him. (Yet, he thought with building frustration.) Without the vampiric chill of his actual presence, Vasil's pale face was merely an annoyance, just like the vampire himself had been before. Old, political, and currently campaigning - for the lifting of the licensing requirements for live-feeding, and more importantly for Sal, the abolishment of vampire hunters permitted to kill the awoken - it was impossible to avoid that face. Would have been impossible even if they weren't living in the same town, if Sal didn't know him personally.

Officially, Vasil was entirely aboveboard, a model vampire. Sal had his doubts about what was beneath that surface - Vasil was two centuries old, after all, and if nothing else, it was unlikely he didn't have a bloody past - and even more doubts about whether any of Vasil's smooth, kind words in sympathy of human victims meant much at all. But whatever Vasil might be doing, officially or unofficially, he was far too powerful to involve himself personally in anything that might get him in trouble. And he wasn't the type who thought that _not_ paying for something he could easily pay for was worth any kind of effort. He wasn't Sal's problem. But his campaign was, and that was far larger than one vampire, by now.

Sal took his turn off the main road and walked along the high iron fence of the town's oldest cemetery, the one dating from the time when they'd still buried bodies rather than cremating them first. From before Thessaloniki and the mass outbreaks of vampirism that had followed, back in the 18th century, fledglings rising all over Europe. 

At this time of year, before the vines that lined the cemetery fence began their yearly growth, ancient tombstones and the trunks of equally old trees were just about visible through the fence. Sal smiled to himself. Due to the history of risings, graveyards were associated with vampires in the public consciousness, but in truth, any vampire who lurked in a graveyard these days was likely doing it for the same reasons human teenagers sometimes did.

It was a tranquil walk, and if not for what was waiting at the end of it, Sal might have enjoyed it. 

Suddenly the engine of a car hummed behind him - the first one coming down this street since Sal had taken his turn. Then it slowed down. Sal kept walking at a steady pace. The car - a black sports car - pulled ahead of him, went up on the pavement with two wheels, and stopped. Sal stopped as well, a good ten metres away. He carried no weapons other than a wooden stake - he never left home without that - and now his hand closed around it.

The driver's door opened, and vampiric coolness seeped through the air as a man stepped out, buttoning his suit jacket as he turned.

Vasil Sofianksy. 

Sal's heartbeat ached in his throat, and his skin was suddenly gooseflesh. He could fight - he knew he could fight - but vampires were faster and stronger than humans, and Vasil was not merely old, but smart. He, unlike most vampires, would not be relying merely on strength and speed. Sal was standing on a scarcely lit night-time street, ten metres from a vampire, and something at the back of his head gibbered.

He'd never been afraid of vampires before. In fact, he'd spent years honing his senses so he'd be able to detect their signature chill immediately, before the vampire in question was right in his personal space. He might have worried about a fight, on occasion, yes. But not like this, not until ...

 _Turn and run_ , his instincts told him. A vampire had accosted him, and it could hardly be for anything good. Sal bit the instinct down, forced himself to take a step forward, and then another, wishing he could somehow turn off this awareness of what he was facing. The vampire met his pace exactly until they stood an arm's length apart.

"Salvatore Cuesta," Vasil said calmly. The meagre streetlights and deep shadows cast Vasil's features into sharp relief: the lines on his forehead that didn't go straight across, but instead curved around his eye sockets; the single downwards line between his eyes that forked at the bridge of his nose; the prominent folds of the laugh lines which curved around his mouth and the deep dimples that emphasized his cheekbones; the slightly hooked nose that lent focus to his face; and the hypnotic curve of his lips, not full by any means, but perfectly shaped.

The scars on Sal's neck and his shoulder seemed to throb, as if they could feel a bite coming in advance. Then Vasil smiled, and his fangs were out, sharp and right there. Humiliatingly, Sal flinched.

"Sofiansky," he snarled, already losing ground and hating it. "What do you want?" His fingers were still clenched around the smooth wood of the stake in his belt. He couldn't seem to let go, and couldn't seem to pull it out, either. He was frozen.

Vasil's eyes flickered over him, up and down. Sal's tightly-wound tension, this time, held him stiff against another flinch, but was giveaway enough on its own. 

"This," Vasil said, and his mouth curled disdainfully, exposing his upper teeth, which looked entirely human now. "You're no use like this, Salvatore. You can barely look at me. Stop deluding yourself."

"What's it to you?" Sal snapped. Damn it, of course Vasil Sofiansky wouldn't accost a hunter on the street and murder him right there, out in the open, even if he were inclined to murder. Which, to the best of Sal's knowledge, he wasn't.

All right: _which he wasn't_ , because yeah, it might all have been a front, in a stranger. But Vasil, while merely a distant acquaintance to Sal, had been Jeremy's mentor. _Jeremy_ thought the world of him, for some damn reason, and _he_ was the furthest from a murderer you could get. Even if he was a vampire. Even if killing was exactly how he - how any of them - had come into being.

Vasil ignored the question. "Do you think you're proving something," he asked sharply, "walking across town in the dark? Do you think that means something? We've not had an infestation of fledglings here in a decade, and whatever criminals might choose to prey on the population, they would hardly be so blatant."

"And I repeat," Sal snarled, "what's it to you? I can delude myself as much as I please, and you don't get a say in it. You don't run this town, Sofiansky."

"No," Vasil said, and he sounded amused more than anything. "I have better things to do."

Bigger things, yeah. Sal grimaced, against his will. Damn, why couldn't he get himself under control? But there was a vampire right in front of him, and his subconscious kept throwing memories and panic at him. 

Vasil tilted his head, regarded Sal with something that, in another person, might have seemed akin to pity. "You can't keep going on like this, Salvatore. You know you can't."

 _The hell I can't_ , he wanted to say, but that was too big a lie, and he couldn't make himself speak the words, even to Vasil, even in self-defence.

Sal gritted his teeth. _None of your business_ , he wanted to say, but he'd already tried that and it had got him nowhere.

 _I'm soul-wounded_ , he wanted to say. _That takes its time to heal. I was drained so far, part of my soul was already consumed. Of course I'm not back to normal yet._ But true though might be, he knew it for the excuse it was. Sal's problem was not a soul-wound, just good old-fashioned trauma. Well, that _and_ a soul-wound, all right. But the trauma alone was plenty enough.

At least those fledglings were all dead now. That lost part of his soul would not go into the making of another of Vasil's and Jeremy's kind.

Finally, Sal settled for, "You just want me to stop hunting."

That was what Vasil was campaigning for, after all: the abolishment of hunters of Sal's kind, the ones who were were trained to kill not just fledglings, but awoken vampires who preyed on humans. In theory, Vasil's objection was reasonable: of course a criminal vampire should be arrested and tried, rather than staked or beheaded. But in practice it wasn't so simple. Very little could kill a vampire, but incapacitating one was even harder. Containment wasn't the issue, once you had the vampire in the first place - but getting one into containment? That was a problem.

And it was even more of one if you wanted to do it without getting any bystanders harmed in the process.

A corner of Vasil's mouth twitched. "On principle, yes. Of course I do. I've made no secret of that. But I'm hardly going to go around attempting to argue individual hunters into giving up their profession. That would not be efficient at all. Not to mention that one hunter more or less cannot possibly make any appreciable difference." 

The smoothness of Vasil's voice seemed to snake around Sal, slide over his skin, and increase his already prominent gooseflesh. There was something pooling in his belly that was part terror, and part heightened awareness, every sense impression sharp and clear in high definition, magnified and in slow motion.

"I'm not stopping." Sal forced the words out of a throat that felt far too tight, as if the vampiric presence he felt was pressing against his windpipe.

"I know," Vasil said, pursing his lips. "That's the problem, you see. You're not stopping, but you're also not fit to continue. Anyone can see that. Well, any vampire can." His eyebrows drew down, and suddenly he was glaring. The abrupt intensity of it felt like a punch to the gut, and for a long moment, Sal had to struggle for air.

It had him paralysed, helpless. 

Vasil wasn't going to physically attack him - of course he wasn't - but that knowledge helped not at all. It _felt_ like he was going to be attacked. He _felt_ a moment away from teeth in his throat, his blood drained away, darkness and death coming for him.

"Why are you telling me this?" Sal managed, hoarsely. The words were barely a whisper.

Vasil's hand, suddenly, was on his shoulder. Sal flinched, but couldn't flinch away.

"Because," Vasil hissed, "you need to get yourself together. I don't doubt that sooner or later you'll pass your evaluation, and they'll put you back on active duty. Your superiors aren't vampires, after all. And you're a stubborn one." He smiled a very sharp smile. "And what then, Salvatore? What do you think will happen? If you won't stop hunting, you _must_ get over this. If not for your own sake, then for Jeremy's. Because _he_ certainly deserves better than to be killed because his hunting partner won't admit just how compromised he is."

Sal's eyes widened. Whatever he'd expected Vasil to say, that wasn't it.

Vasil's hand dropped from his shoulder as quickly as he'd reached for him, and the vampire turned away, striding towards his open car door as Sal stared. He unbuttoned his jacket, and just before he slipped into the driver's seat, he turned back to Sal once more.

"If you get him killed," Vasil said calmly, matter-of-fact, "have no doubt - you will pay." A moment later he sat in the car; the door clanged shut, loud in the quiet of the night; and the engine sprang to life.

Sal watched as the rear lights sped away, blood rushing in his ears and his heart beating in his throat. What the hell?

  


* * *

  


The door unlocked with a click. Sal stepped into the sound of the TV from the open living room door, and the faint chill of a vampire's presence. His gut clenched, and his fingers tightened around his keys. He threw his jacket on the hanger and, rather than disappearing straight into his own bedroom as had become his new habit, he grimly, stubbornly, went into the living room.

Jeremy turned around on the sofa, his eyes widening in surprise. "Sal," he said, and then stopped, apparently at a loss for words. His eyes were pleading.

Behind Jer, Vasil's face stared at Sal from the television, with the logo of a news broadcast in the corner. The newscaster's voice switched to Vasil's own for a soundbite: "There are other things it's illegal to do to someone without their consent, but people don't require a licence to have sex."

His speech had made national television. Of course it had. Sal scowled. And wasn't it just bizarre to hear the word _sex_ from Vasil's mouth?

"Hi, Jer," he said belatedly, aware it came out too gruff. Too grudging. Irritated with himself, with Vasil, with everything, he strode into the room, snatched the remote from the sofa's armrest, and turned off the TV.

"Hey!" Jeremy complained. But his eyes examined Sal carefully, watching his reactions. It grated.

"Why are you even watching this?" Sal asked, snappishly. His shoulders tensed with the effort of not reaching for his stake. "It's just the same talking points again."

Jeremy shrugged, but carefully did not turn away from Sal. "He's not wrong."

Sal looked away first. "About live-feeding? I know," he conceded reluctantly. A feeding licence didn't do anything to ensure any one human being bitten was a willing donor, after all. It served no purpose save to make it easier to legally prosecute vampires. "So? You don't even live-feed."

Jeremy rolled his eyes. "Do you think I need to personally want to do something to agree that people should be allowed to? About _that_ , Vasil definitely isn't wrong. And the jury's still out about the rest."

Sal stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep them from reaching for a weapon, or from rubbing his forearms against the coolness that pervaded Jeremy's presence. Damn it, that never used to bother him, before. He'd barely noticed it at all, when he hadn't specifically focused on vampiric presences. But now, every hair on his body seemed to be in revolt, determined not to let him find peace.

"Maybe," he said wth a grimace. Vasil did have a point, all right. He always had a point. Sometimes even a good one. Didn't mean he was _right_. "But just as always, he never makes any suggestions about how we're supposed to stop the ones who prey on people _without_ killing them. Preferably before they infect even more people."

The corners of Jeremy's mouth turned down. "I know. But he's still not wrong."

Sal wanted to roll his shoulders against the tension, and didn't - couldn't bring himself to admit that much of a weakness. _Yeah, right._ As if Jeremy didn't know. But Jeremy defending Vasil had always been a little uncomfortable, and it was doubly so tonight, after hearing Vasil speak so protectively of Jeremy.

"You're a hunter," Sal snapped. "You can't think he's all that right."

Jeremy sighed. "I think hunting's the best option we have. What they're trying on the continent doesn't exactly seem to have worked so far either. But it's a mess of bad options, Sal. We all know that."

"Does Vasil?" Repressively.

Suddenly Jeremy was on his feet. A moment before he'd been sitting, half-turned around and leaning over the backrest; now he was standing beside the sofa. Sal flinched back.

Such feats of vampiric speed and agility had always seemed enviable to Sal before. Now, his heart was hammering. This was his friend, his partner. With a distant acquaintance like Vasil, his reaction might be excusable. With his closest friend?

Jeremy had stilled entirely, and a vampire could be _very_ still. They stared at each other, their gaze locking them in place. Sal felt like a rabbit. Didn't matter that he knew Jeremy was no snake about to devour him, that he meant Sal no harm. Jeremy was a vampire. A predator. And Sal had lost the ability to set that instinctive knowledge aside.

He remembered some slight instinctive trepidation, from when he'd first met Jeremy. He remembered distrusting Jer, wondering what his game was. He remembered all of that going away, too, as he got to know him. But now -

After a long moment, Jeremy's bushy eyebrows drew down. It made the small bit of eyelid crease that was usually visible at the outer corners of his eyes disappear altogether. Jeremy's eyes were narrow by nature, but that only meant he had a head start in narrowing them at Sal. He bared his teeth, then visibly fought to pull himself back, and actually took a physical step backwards, bumping into the couch table. A set of keys rattled loudly, metal on glass.

"Look," Jeremy said, lifting his hands in what was clearly meant to be a placating gesture and achieved nothing of the sort, "this isn't working. We both know this isn't working. Take some more time to recover, okay? I can move out, or you can if you'd rather. Maybe it'd help, being somewhere else. I don't know. But we can't keep going like this. And you're nowhere near ready to get back into the fight."

What the hell? Was everyone ganging up on him today?

"No." The word fell out without Sal's conscious decision, more plaintive than angry. "I can fight, okay? I know I'm not all right, but I'm getting there. I can fight if I have to."

It wasn't even a good lie.

"Sal," Jeremy said, too gently. "No, you can't. Not like this. Not if you don't want to get killed for real. You're already soul-wounded. Is that not enough for you?"

Sal very carefully didn't think about the fact that Vasil had told him almost exactly the same thing. Damn, did everyone know how badly he was dealing with this, or was it only the vampires?

 _Anyone can see,_ Vasil had said. _Any vampire can._ Sal shivered. What was Jeremy thinking - that he was suicidal? 

It wasn't Sal who was most at risk, though. It was his partner, whose back he was supposed to have, and who he could barely bring himself to look at right now. Vasil had been right about that, too. Damn the vampire.

"Damn," he repeated out loud, his mouth twisting, and turned his face away. "All right, fine, I'm not ready. Is that what you want to hear? I'd freeze, or stall, or flinch at the wrong moment. I know I would, because I do every time I see you. Is that what you want to hear?" He let out a bitter laugh. "What do you want me to do, Jeremy? Give up? Just give in to this? I can't, Jer. I _can't._ "

If he gave up, what was left for him - of him? He'd lose his job, his best friend, his life. Everything that mattered. 

Jeremy looked at him, and the pity in his eyes burned. "Maybe," he said softly, "that wouldn't be the end of the world."

Sal scowled. "Yeah, right." Damn it, no, he wasn't going to just give up. Maybe he _couldn't_ get over it, but he hadn't even really tried, had he? Because he had no idea how to. Sal kicked at the back of the sofa in frustration.

"Maybe just take a little more time off," Jeremy suggested. "Move out for a bit. What harm could it do?"

"What good could it do?" Sal retorted. "Avoiding you - avoiding vampires won't help."

"Yes, well, not avoiding me clearly isn't helping, either!"

Sal swallowed bitterly. "Been avoiding you plenty," he admitted. Not that Jer didn't know. "Maybe I need to avoid you less." He snorted. "Hell, maybe you should just bite me. Exposure therapy, or something."

It was an uncomfortable joke, made only a little less so by the knowledge that Jeremy _didn't_ bite people, willing or no. He didn't _do_ live-feeding, couldn't bring himself to, despite the supposed health benefits.

Jer stared at him, for once utterly shocked. Then he snorted out a laugh, and another one. "Oh hell, Sal," he managed. "Hell."

Sal scowled at him, ducked his head, and tried to dismiss the image his hindbrain was throwing up, of Jeremy leaning into him, Jeremy's fangs sharp and extended ...

His scars itched, and something in his gut churned horribly. "Maybe it would work," he muttered, under his breath.

Not quietly enough for Jer's vampiric hearing, of course. 

"Maybe it would," Jeremy said, hesitantly, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was saying. "I mean, I don't - I can't -" He broke off, uncomfortably, started again. "Just, you're right. You've been avoiding me. Maybe more exposure to vampires would help. Even just the aura."

Sal's body didn't seem to know whether it wanted to shiver from cold or feel overheated with a sudden flush. Vampires. Not just Jeremy. Others. It could be safe enough, with the right ones. Could he bear it? He would panic, no question - but would it do some good? Could it?

_Teeth flashing, a head leaning towards his neck -_

"Not just the aura," he murmured, lowering his head. "I'd always keep waiting for the bite."

Jeremy's eyes went wide. "You meant it," he said, stunned. "About the bite."

Sal couldn't meet his eyes. Had he meant it? Maybe.

Maybe.

"All right," Jeremy said. "All right. Let's think about this. Are you sure?"

Hell no. Sal bit his lip. "You were right. This hasn't been working. But I didn't know what else to do. Except ..." He shrugged uncomfortably. "Even if I did mean it, who could I possibly trust with this? Who would you?" 

Jeremy hesitated. "Vasil," he said, finally.

Sal flinched. _Vasil on a dark street, his features highlighted by streetlights and deep shadows, fangs gleaming for just a moment ..._ Something in his stomach fluttered.

"You're a hunter," he said, stalling. "He wants to abolish us, Jer. But you always defend him anyway. Why?"

They'd never really _talked_ about Vasil before.

Jeremy rolled his eyes. "He's my mentor, Sal. You know that. He took me in and taught me and helped me get my feet under me when I was freshly awoken. He helped me live with this." He gestured towards his own body. Live with what had gone into his creation, was what he meant. Sal knew how much Jeremy was still struggling with that. Jeremy smiled, wryly. "I needed help, desperately. And he's still helping, even if we disagree a lot."

Even a day ago, Sal would have shrugged it off. But after what Vasil had told him tonight, he couldn't. Vasil did care about Jeremy. Whatever he'd done, whatever he still did, it wasn't only to keep some sort of control over Jeremy. 

And that meant Jeremy's trust in Vasil wasn't, couldn't be, entirely misplaced. So, for that suggestion ...

It was a horrifying thought, making himself vulnerable to Vasil of all people. All vampires. The thought of Vasil's presence alone made his skin tighten - just thinking the word _bite_ in connection with Vasil sent a full-body shiver through Sal. His throat constricted, and his fingernails were digging into his palms.

Vasil wasn't a friend. Vasil was powerful and aware of it. Vasil had a keen sense of his own advantage - had to, to be where he was - and would make the most of Sal's vulnerability. The thought was, stunningly, almost a relief. And Vasil already knew the worst of it, didn't he?

God, he was actually considering this. Except ...

"I'd panic," Sal said bleakly. "I'd fight. Who knows what I'd do? I could get someone killed." Himself included, if it came to it. His stomach twisted, and he thought almost yearningly of that brief sensation of relief, imagining Vasil ...

"Sal," Jeremy said gently. "Do you think that would matter, if Vasil was determined? Particularly if he had my help."

Sal's eyes widened. "Oh," he breathed. Just the possibility of relief was almost too much. Could he really risk this? His knees felt weak. _Please,_ he wanted to say. But he couldn't get the word out.

Jer's head tilted to the side, and his eyes flickered over Sal in slow consideration, clearly reading Sal's conflicted thoughts in every line of his body. He lifted a hand toward Sal in silent offer, then changed his mind and let it drop to his side again. "Do you trust me?" he asked.

Before the fledglings, Sal's _yes_ would have been immediate, unhesitating. But that easy trust had not had to fight his instincts at every turn. He hadn't known how hard trust could be, even when you knew it to be well-founded. 

With a shudder, Sal gave in and wrapped his arms around himself. He wasn't hiding anything from Jeremy anyway. Did he trust his friend? In general, intellectually, of course he did. Instinctively? Not any longer. Not at all. 

That was the point, though, wasn't it? Moving past that. Stepping over the boundaries his fear had made for him. And after that, only one question remained: Did he, could he trust Jer with this? Where Vasil was involved?

The weird vampiric _thing_ between Jeremy and Vasil had always bothered Sal. He'd never understood it, hadn't wanted to. Jer's loyalties were complicated when it came to Vasil. And now Jeremy was asking him if he'd trust him, putting Sal into Vasil's hands. Under his fangs. Oh god. Just the thought -

Sal's scars ached, and he dug his fingernails into the ones on his biceps. It helped for about a second, as usual, and then simply ached more. _Fangs, sinking into his flesh ..._

Could he really do this? Should he?

"Yes," Sal breathed, lifting his head to meet Jeremy's eyes.


	3. Now

Sal was trembling. His head was hanging, eyes shut and face wet with tears, lips half open as he drew shallow breaths, and everything was woozy. Cold and heat were shivering over his skin in waves, and there didn't seem to be enough strength in his body to so much as tense his muscles. 

There was nothing else. Only him, adrift. No one was touching him. He was alone.

"Sal?" said a familiar voice from a vast distance, and a hand cupped his chin after all, lifting it up. "Are you all right?"

Sal hung limply in his bonds, his head held up only by Jeremy's hand, and his mouth worked as he tried to find words, and the coordination to produce them.

"Sal?" Jeremy repeated, anxiously.

A pair of hands settled on his shoulders, firm and solid. "Salvatore," Vasil prompted.

Sal swallowed. "No," he gasped out, not even sure what he was denying. Jeremy snatched his hand away as if burned. Sal yelped out a wordless protest and kept his head up, managing to find some muscle control after all. Opening his eyes would have been too much, though.

Vasil had not moved his hands. "Really, Jeremy," he chided. "That's not what he meant. Is it, Salvatore?" 

"No," he forced out again, clenching his eyes shut more tightly, dislodging teardrops in his lashes. They rolled down his cheeks like a trail of acid, sharp and there, impossible to ignore.

One of Vasil's hands dropped away from him, and Sal could feel him move around his chair. He let his chin sink back down, trying to think, to find some measure of clarity, without thinking of _this_ , himself here in this chair, cuffed and naked except for a pair of boxers, his spent cock pulled out. Without thinking of Jeremy and Vasil looking at him, seeing -

"He doesn't seem to wish to look at us," Vasil said with dry amusement. "Well, I suppose we can accommodate that. Jeremy, if you'd be so good - I think a blindfold is in order, after all."

Jeremy cleared his throat. Sal recognised his hesitation, but in the end all Jeremy said was, "Of course, sir."

"And a change in venue, I believe," Vasil added after a moment. 

What was Vasil planning? Thoughts, images, ideas flickered through Sal, and he shivered again - in fear; in anticipation; in something almost like arousal, though he wasn't yet capable of it again, not so soon.

He should be telling them to stop. Asking, begging if necessary. He must have lost it completely. 

"It's okay," Jeremy said softly as he slid the blindfold over his eyes. "You're okay." He began to open the leather cuffs holding Sal's wrists. 

His hands suddenly free, terror overwhelmed him again. A moment ago he'd been frozen between anticipation and dread; now fear was taking him over again. _Cold hands on him; a strong vampiric aura; and he weak and confused_ \- with nothing to ground him, to remind him, he was lost.

"Don't fight," Jeremy whispered into his ear.

Panic driving, Sal struggled against him anyway, futile though it was.

  


* * *

  


The blindfold was very efficient; Sal could see nothing at all. He was lying on a firm bed, his hands cuffed to the headboard. Jeremy had simply carried him into whatever room they were in now, Sal's incoherent attempts at resistance abating with the firmness of his hold.

Now, Jeremy was stretched out next to him, curled into his side, a strong arm over Sal's stomach. He had taken off his shirt at some point, and it was cool vampiric skin against Sal's, a steady presence, terrifying and reassuring.

"Very nice," said Vasil's calm voice. 

Oh god. Vasil was _looking_ at them - at Sal, naked. Not even the boxer shorts covered him now; Jeremy had pulled them off after he'd fixed the cuffs. Sal's chest trembled with the rhythm of his breath. His body was still trying to scream panic; it was merely subdued a little under a layer of exhaustion, of lassitude. Of solid restraint.

The mattress dipped on the side opposite Jeremy, and a cool hand settled on Sal's biceps. He jerked away on instinct, the little he could, and only shifted closer to Jer. From one vampire to the next. Blood was rushing in Sal's ears. His heart was racing. If Vasil and Jer could hear it - and they must; he knew they must - he must be a treat waved directly under their noses. Their fangs.

Not that Jeremy would bite him. But -

"Shhh," Vasil murmured, his mouth against the inside of Sal's arm. "You're restrained, Sal. You don't need to keep struggling."

Of course Vasil had picked up on that. And it was true, wasn't it? He was restrained. That meant a mind, meant thought and intent, not mindless feeding. Restrained meant _safe_.

There were no fledglings here.

Jeremy's body was cool against his, and Vasil's breath was cool against the sensitive skin on the inside of his elbow. Sal shivered. He was incredibly aware of Vasil's mouth, lips and teeth just slightly touching his skin. 

_A fledgling's teeth tearing into his skin - a mouth working, swallowing - a vampire drinking him down -_

His limbs thrashed in panic, helplessly, but the restraints and the vampires kept him firmly in place.

"Shhh," said Vasil, again, and Jeremy's thumb caressed his side, slowly, soothingly.

The worst of the panic receded. Every time he tried to move and found himself securely held, he gained a little ground, the rush of blood in his ears and the pounding of his heart quieting a fraction, until the desperate, mindless urge to fight was gone. There was no way Vasil couldn't tell.

God, so many things Vasil could tell about him, now. But that was a distant worry, not quite real, like anything beyond this moment, right here, right now.

Terror still scraped over his skin, clawed at his insides, but he could hold it, now. He could let it hold him, the way the leather cuffs held him, the way Jeremy and Vasil did. There was nothing else he could do. He couldn't break free, couldn't escape the source of his fear, and couldn't defeat the fear, either. He could only let himself sink into the terror, abandoning himself to it.

And as if he knew, as if he could see the exact moment it happened, that was when Vasil sank his teeth into Sal's arm. Bizarrely, horrifyingly, Sal's cock jumped.

Jeremy let out a muffled sound like a snort, but Vasil merely continued feeding, his mouth implacable, unrelenting.

He couldn't stop it - either 'it' - and couldn't stop his awareness of the fangs in his vein, of his cock twitching in time with the movements of Vasil's cool mouth, of his blood rushing with the rapid beat of his heart, of the waves of pressure pulsing in his eardrums, his arm, his cock.

It wasn't enough to send him over the edge, but it held him there, high at the apex just shy of falling, an endless, suspended moment like nothing he'd ever felt before.

  


* * *

  


They held him, afterwards, as he shivered. Sal's cock was still hard, but without Vasil's bite, without teeth on him, in him, it was merely arousal, not an impossible, desperate need.

"Shall we take this further?" Vasil murmured. Sal let out an incoherent noise, his hips bucking up into nothing, and Vasil chuckled. "I know. But you must say it, this time. Shall we?"

Sal shuddered, swallowed, and worked his mouth, grasping for words. "Please," he managed. "Please."

"Of course." Wry amusement, now. "Jeremy, if you please."

"Yes, sir," said Jeremy, a little breathlessly, in that low, respectful tone he only ever used with Vasil. It did something to Sal's insides. He'd used to find it irritating, but he thought he might be starting to like it.

Suddenly Jeremy's hand was on Sal's cock again. Sal gasped and thrust up into it, straining towards more. God, this was Jeremy -

"Your mouth this time, I think," Vasil said, dispassionately. 

Sal flushed. What was Vasil doing, instructing Jeremy like that? What was Jeremy thinking? - And then a cold vampiric mouth closed over the head of his cock. All thought fled as Sal let out a strangled curse.

Cool lips slid down along his length, taking him all in. A cool tongue curled around him. Jeremy pulled back again, a slow, drawn-out drag of lips with just the slightest scrape of teeth - no fangs, this time, but threat enough, thrill enough, _there_.

And at the same time, Vasil's sharp fangs scraped over the scars on his arm, as if he were examining them for the best place to bite. Sal wanted -

Oh god, he _wanted_ him to do it, to stop teasing and tear into the skin -

His arms strained against his bonds not in a panic, but with the urge to reach out, to touch Jeremy in return, to touch Vasil, even -

Hell. What was he doing? What were they all doing?

Fangs sliced into his skin. He'd been bitten twice on the same arm now, once on the inside of his elbow, once slightly higher up. Was Vasil going to cover him in bite marks everywhere? 

And still, Jeremy's mouth was sliding over him, bobbing a few times, then pulling off, licking at the slit, mouthing along the side. Jeremy hummed, and the vibration went through him, strumming his whole body. Sal arched helplessly, and it pushed him more firmly against Vasil. He moaned.

Jeremy took him in again, all the way - swallowing him down, Jer's throat working around him - and with a helpless stutter of the hips, Sal lost his last shreds of control, spilling himself into Jeremy's mouth.

  


* * *

  


When his thoughts cleared, he realised his arms were being massaged. And the wrist cuffs were gone. He tried to pull away in a panic, to lash out, but only succeeded in flailing his arms. Painfully so - having his hands restrained above his head had strained them, and he was stiff with it.

Someone easily caught his flailing hands, fingers enclosing his wrists. Which one -

"Shhh," Vasil murmured, the sound half-muffled by the rushing in Sal's ears. 

It was Vasil who had his wrists, then. Sal made another panicked attempt at pulling away, but Vasil's hold was firm, unbreakable. Not grasping, taking, but merely holding him still. After a moment, Jeremy's arms wrapped around him tightly, in the same way. 

Safe. He was safe.

"Yes," Vasil said quietly, as if responding to Sal's thoughts. "We have you, Salvatore." And he tightened his fingers around Sal's wrists, just a little. 

Sal's breathing calmed, eventually.

"Now," said Vasil, "where shall I bite you next?"

Sal shivered, but didn't quite flinch. "Don't -"

"Of course I will." Vasil sounded amused. Did nothing ever faze him? "We're not done, my dear. Jeremy has asked me for a favour, after all, and I have granted it to him."

"Which we're both very grateful for," Jeremy chimed in, and Sal couldn't even claim he wasn't speaking for them both.

"Then -" Sal swallowed, grasped for words, and finally managed to find them, found something like sanity in the madness of the hour. "Why are you asking me?" he ground out. "You'll do whatever you want anyway." He knocked an elbow in his friend's direction, making him huff in protest, and only realised afterwards that Vasil had, in fact, allowed the movement. "Or whatever Jer asks you to, I suppose."

Vasil chuckled. "I'm asking," he said pointedly, "because you have a choice. If, indeed, that is what you want."

Sal clenched his teeth together, and said nothing. 

"Very well," Vasil said. Cool lips brushed over his skin; Vasil's tongue swiped over his shoulder; and then sharp teeth scraped, very lightly, over the worst of the scars. Sal's breath stuttered, and his fingernails dug into his palms as he grasped for self-control.

Not cuffed. Still held, but not the same. He could fight this, if he tried. Not successfully, in the end, no, but he could give it a good go.

He didn't.

Vasil's snarl caught him by surprise, a primal and vicious sound - and then his teeth were tearing into Sal's shoulder, not gently like before, but harsh and sharp and painful. Sal screamed.

And still he didn't fight.

Jeremy held him through it, steadily, cool arms around him, his hands tracing soothing patterns on Sal's skin. This time, when Vasil stopped, the bite mark kept throbbing. 

"Does that hurt?" Vasil asked, mock-solicitously.

"You know it does," Sal ground out, finding his voice on the second try. It hurt like a fledgling's bite mark, almost - not as much; not as badly; but close. Purposely so, of course. But, Sal suddenly realised, even though he'd been bitten for the fifth time just now, he didn't feel weakened at all. Woozy from fear and arousal and orgasm, from the prolonged adrenaline high, weak in the knees from what Jeremy and Vasil were doing, but not, in fact, drained.

Vasil couldn't have taken much blood from him with each bite, not even that last. A fledgling's bite? He'd be feeling the blood loss, not just the mark on his shoulder.

"Good," said Vasil, apparently recognising Sal's returned grasp on rationality. "That's a start."

"What now?" Jeremy asked, his hand running along Sal's side. "I think he's up for more. Aren't you, Sal?" Sal growled in his general direction, and Jer laughed. "Yeah, I think that was a yes."

"Of course it was," said Vasil, very drily, and pulled Sal upright into a sitting position. After a moment, Jeremy's hands closed over Vasil's on his wrists, and Vasil let go.

From behind him, Vasil ran his fingertips over Sal's biceps to his shoulders, his neck, and up the sides of his face, coming to rest at his temples. "I believe I want you to see this." With a swift move he pulled off the blindfold, and while Sal blinked helplessly into the light, trying to clear his vision, he added, "Your teeth, Jeremy."

The blurred shapes cleared. The first thing Sal saw was Jeremy's face leaning towards him - Jeremy's mouth, lips parted and showing sharp vampiric teeth. Sal shivered, even as Vasil's hand came to rest over his throat, his other arm wrapping around Sal's middle.

He knew Jeremy didn't - that he wouldn't - 

He _knew_ , and yet -

"Jer," came from his mouth, almost pleading. Vasil had already bitten him - how many times now? And yet.

Jeremy scowled at him in return, scrunching up his nose, and that was such an ordinary, familiar expression, it braced Sal a little. 

Vasil pulled him back against his body, his fingers idly stroking Sal's throat. He was still fully dressed, his shirt a thin barrier between them, though he seemed to have ditched the jacket, at least. "Jeremy," he said softly, and brushed a thumb quickly over Sal's left nipple. Sal hissed.

Jeremy, still holding on to Sal's wrists, stared down at Sal's chest. "Yes," he said breathlessly. "Yes, all right." And he leaned forward to lick the nipple Vasil had indicated. Sal let out a strangled sound.

Jer sucked Sal's nipple into his mouth. He teased it with his tongue, briefly, then scraped a fang over it, and Sal jerked in Vasil's arms, mouth open, gasping for air.

It went on like that, Jeremy's mouth moving over his chest - one nipple; the other; tongue and fangs teasing over his pecs. On a spot just next to his left nipple, Jeremy sucked forcefully, a sharp brief pain not entirely unlike a bite, as if his skin had burst.

It hadn't; of course it hadn't - Jeremy wouldn't -

Jeremy's mouth pulled away, wetly, and Sal could see the deep red mark he'd left on his chest. A love bite, not a bite. He swallowed, his throat dry.

And then Vasil pulled back a little.

They traded places smoothly, Jeremy moving behind Sal and Vasil taking hold of his wrists again. Sal's heart was hammering. What were they doing? 

Vasil threw him a look, a wicked gleam in his eyes. His pale face gave away nothing of the fact that he'd recently fed, that Sal's blood was coursing through his veins. He really couldn't have taken much. Vasil's mouth quirked briefly, and he leaned forward.

Vasil's fangs extended as his head bent over Sal's chest. Against his back, Sal could feel Jeremy's bare chest shudder as Vasil put his mouth over Jeremy's mark and slowly, slowly, his eyes meeting Jeremy's over Sal's shoulder, sank his teeth into Sal's skin.

  


* * *

  


How many bites? He'd lost track. Sal was lost, in a haze of fear and pain and arousal, desperate panic and desperate need, of adrenaline and endorphins and all the other fun stuff a human body could produce.

"Turn him over," Vasil instructed, and with speedy efficiency, Sal was flipped over onto his stomach, his wrists crossing over his head until Vasil shifted his grip.

A hand slapped briefly against his arse - Jeremy, oh god - and then Jeremy let go of his ankles. Sal kicked out, on instinct, but Jer had already moved out of the way. Of course.

"Knees," Vasil said, amused. 

"Don't fight," Jeremy told him once again, rubbing a hand over Sal's hip. "We've got you. You know we do."

"Jeremy is right," Vasil added, judiciously. "Be good, now."

The bite wounds in Sal's neck, his arm, his shoulder, his chest - everywhere - were throbbing, and the scar tissue from the fledglings itched with awareness. He wanted to tear it all away, rip his own skin off. Perhaps Vasil's teeth could do that, he thought, bizarrely. Perhaps that would help. If his body didn't give out first - if Vasil and Jeremy didn't give him a heart attack, or something. 

He _wanted_ it to help. Wanted to forget, to let go.

Jeremy's hands guided him into pulling his knees under him, raising his arse into the air. He didn't resist, pulled his elbows in to brace himself. Vasil kept hold of his wrists, thank god. A cool hand stroked over the curve of his spine, and he trembled. 

"Jeremy," said Vasil, "spread his knees a little more, please."

Sal flushed with shame and arousal as Jeremy's hands pulled his thighs apart, cold air burning against sensitive skin. His cock hung heavy between his legs. 

Jeremy was behind him. Vasil remained in front, fingers circling Sal's wrists, reminding him where he was. Who it was that had him. That there were no fledglings here.

At Vasil's nod - oh god - Jeremy's cool fingers dipped between his cheeks, found his arsehole. Pressed against, circled slowly. Sal moaned helplessly and rocked back against him.

Madness. This was madness. How was he ever supposed to look Jeremy in the face again? Or Vasil? Vasil was virtually a stranger, and he was seeing all this, directing all this ...

Something squirted. "I can't warm that up for you," Jeremy said wryly. "Body temperature and all that. But you wouldn't want that, would you?" 

Sal bit his lip, unable to deny but unwilling to admit it.

Cool lube, and cool fingers pressing against him. 

"Yes," said Vasil, and a single finger breached him, sliding inside. Sal shuddered with it - would have shuddered with the touch, had it been human, but this wasn't. It was a vampire's finger, a vampire's coolness not merely around and against, but _in_ him, the way even fangs weren't _inside_ when they tore into flesh.

Jeremy moved his finger a little, in and out, just a small movement, and Sal's entire awareness focused on it, unable to feel anything else, to _think_ anything else.

A vampire - _Jeremy_ -

Then a second finger joined the first, and Sal sobbed helplessly into his forearms. The top of his head was brushing Vasil's fingers where they lay around his wrists. He looked up briefly, into Vasil's smile, which was aimed over his head in Jeremy's direction, and then hid his face again.

Jeremy curled his fingers, and after a moment found Sal's prostate.

It was intense, more than merely fingers inside him should have been, but then, these were a vampire's fingers. Jeremy's fingers, but he couldn't think about that now, had no mind left to contemplate the meaning, the ramifications.

It went on, and on. Fingers stroking, curling, thrusting. Jeremy's other hand rested on the small of his back, a cool weight simultaneously threatening and soothing. Sensations built, and grew. Sal let out a whimper.

And, abruptly, Vasil let go of his wrists.

Sal's head jerked up with a jolt of adrenaline, of panic. His arse clenched around Jeremy's fingers, sending an incongruous shockwave of pleasure through him. "No -"

"Yes." Vasil's hand brushed briefly over Sal's stubble-short hair. "You can brace yourself on your own."

"No!" His body tensed again, tightened again around the fingers in his arse, and he pushed against them reflexively, then flinched away as he realised what he was doing. His head bumped into Vasil's stomach.

Sal let out a hiss of shock, and his eyes went wide. Oh god, Vasil's crotch was right there. And he was hard inside his trousers. Sal flushed - no, he'd been flushed already; surely he couldn't flush any redder -

He was panting harshly now, every muscle tense as he struggled for control, struggled to hold himself still without anyone, anything to force him, to keep him, to reassure. A desperate sound tore itself from his throat.

"Shhh," said Vasil, and scratched his fingernails through Sal's hair. "Do you need something to do?"

Sal nodded, desperately, and after a moment, Vasil's free hand went to his fly. Sal drew in a sharp breath, shivering with the idea. He looked over his shoulder at Jeremy for reassurance. For safety. For some measure of control. But Jeremy was watching Vasil. 

When he noticed Sal's eyes, Jeremy's free hand cupped Sal's arse for a moment, squeezing tenderly; then his focus returned to Vasil. No help there.

Face hot, left to his own devices, his own choice, Sal bowed his head in acceptance.

Nimble fingers made quick work of the button, the zip, and Vasil's cock stood up straight as soon as it was freed. Vasil's fingers pressed against the back of Sal's head, and he obeyed without thought, leaning forward, lips parting.

Vasil let out a hiss as Sal's mouth, a good twelve or fourteen degrees warmer, slid over his cock. It felt cool on Sal's tongue, and tasted musky, but not like a human's - the flavour was different with the temperature, and carried an undertone of something metallic and strange.

And now it was _in_ him, that old, strong aura - was spreading itself through his flesh from the inside, the chill and the terror of it. For a moment he almost reared back in panic, but just then Jeremy's fingers found his prostate again, and the reflex came apart under a different urge.

Sal opened his mouth further, tongue sliding against Vasil's cock, and Vasil's hips rocked forward, pushing deeper. Sal's hands were free, unbound, unrestrained, but his mouth was full, and his arse -

Oh god. Jeremy pulled out his fingers, and then there was a cock nudging against his opening, and he rocked blindly backwards, forwards, against Jeremy, against Vasil.

They had him, completely. A vampire taking his arse, a vampire taking his mouth, their bodies and auras inside of him, possessing him.

Filled. Fucked. Taken. Terrified. Of what? He no longer knew. Hot and cold, blood rushing in his ears, Vasil's taste on his tongue, Vasil's cock nudging against the back of his throat, Jeremy' cock thrusting straight against his prostate - he was lost, taken over, and he'd done it himself, hadn't he? He'd given himself over, had let this happen, had asked for it, had wanted -

This. Shame and fear and need, mingling. Sal sobbed as he was held between them, as they took his body in a ruthless, possessive rhythm, vampiric strength holding him effortlessly in place even with no restraints, even with his hands unbound.

No fangs this time. Just a vampire's cock in his arse, in his mouth. Just him, between them, being taken, in a way that had nothing to do with blood.

He shuddered apart with the first spurt from Vasil's cock, his body clenching tight, shaking with it, overloading - for how long, he didn't know. He could just feel Jeremy follow after him before Vasil's cock slipped from his mouth, and he collapsed into the mattress, empty and spent.

  


* * *

  


Warm, comfortable, cool. The contradiction was strangely pleasant as Sal slowly drifted towards consciousness. He'd slept deep and dreamless as he hadn't in a long time, or if he had dreamt, for once he couldn't remember. Sal felt boneless and relaxed, sinking heavily into the mattress, face buried almost completely in a large pillow.

He stretched languidly under the duvet, and bumped against a cool body. Sudden awareness and memory flooded through him, and his eyes snapped open. Jeremy lifted his sleep-tousled head and blinked at him.

Two conflicting thoughts hit him at once: _Oh, thank god, it's Jeremy, not Vasil_ , and _Oh no, he saw all that. Saw me like that._

The first part was easier. Of course Vasil wouldn't have stayed, would he? That wasn't like him. The second -

Jeremy hadn't just seen how Sal had reacted; he'd helped it along. Jeremy's hands on him, Jeremy's mouth. Jeremy's cock, in the end. All of that, with Vasil's cool instructions guiding the way ...

Sal swallowed heavily as he sat up and pulled the duvet around him, blood rushing into his cheeks. Jeremy's cool aura shivered against his skin, and suddenly, fear fluttered at the edge of his consciousness again. But he'd woken up unafraid, without panic, hadn't he? He leaned into the fear, testing it, and shuddered with relief. He was in bed with a vampire, unrestrained, and he wasn't panicking. Fear was not his enemy right now.

Gibbering in panic might have been easier. Sal could have lost himself in that, and wouldn't have had to face the reality of what had happened, just yet.

Jeremy was staring right back at him, just as disconcerted, and ran a hand through his black hair, tousling it even more. His aura was a mild coolness today, an almost gentle terror. A predator's presence, yes, but one that neither froze Sal nor drove him to flight. Sal's scars itched. His new bite marks ached, everywhere. His arse was sore. And he felt more himself than he had in a long time. 

"Sal?" Jeremy asked hesitantly, finding his voice first. "Are you okay?"

"I -" Sal had to look away. Couldn't they pretend nothing had happened? Just go back to normal? _Yeah, right._ And no matter what they did, could their friendship possibly survive this? "I'm fine," he mumbled after a moment, too aware of Jeremy's worried gaze.

"It all got away from me a bit," Jeremy whispered, bleakly. "More than a bit. We went too far, didn't we? I'm sorry." 

_Jer's hands on him, Jer's mouth, Jer's teeth ... Terrifying, but so good. Jeremy's cool skin against his. Vasil's voice, giving low commands ..._

_Vasil's fangs, tearing into him. Vasil's cock in his mouth ..._

Too far? Maybe. It had been too far the moment it had started, or maybe the moment they'd come up with the whole preposterous idea in the first place. Hadn't it?

Sal had bite marks all over his arms, his shoulders, his neck, his chest. And yet ...

"I'm not panicking," Sal blurted out.

Jeremy blinked, taken aback. "What?"

He'd said it. No taking it back now. Just like everything they'd done. "I'm not panicking, am I?" Sal repeated, stubbornly. "You can hear my heartbeat."

Jeremy considered him with an expression that was half concern, half cool examination. That last part did something to Sal's insides, now. Damn it. Jer didn't need that from him.

"No," Jeremy said slowly, attempting a smile. His hand came up, reached in Sal's direction, then sank back onto the duvet. "You're not."

They looked at each other, Jeremy's uncertainty echoing Sal's own. But they were here, weren't they? It was the first time in weeks that they were in the same room without Sal struggling with his reaction to a vampire's presence. His eyes raked over Jeremy's face, every curve and crinkle and twitch of it familiar, and Sal _felt_ that comforting familiarity again for the first time since the fledglings.

"God, Jer," he sighed, a giddy wave of relief and hope coming over him. Roughly, quickly, before he could change his mind, he pulled his friend into his arms. After a moment, Jeremy went with it, and they held each other, Jeremy's cool skin against his. It felt like coming home. There was a thrill to it, a bit of excitement, and a little terror, too, but it was all good. It was Jeremy, right here with him, and Sal wasn't panicking any more. "Damn, Jer, I missed you," he muttered against Jer's shoulder.

"Missed you too," Jeremy whispered back, and there was a tremor in his voice. "I thought I'd lost you. First with the fledglings, and then ..."

"Not getting rid of me that easily." 

Jeremy hugged him tighter, holding on with rather more strength than strictly necessary. It felt safe, being held. Like the day before, being restrained -

Sal cut off that train of thought as quickly as he could.

"You're really okay?" Jeremy asked again, pulling back after all.

"Fine." What else could he say? It was true, even. And then a horrible thought came to him. "Are _you_ all right? Like you said, it sort of got away from us." He wondered if it had got away from Vasil, too. That calm, controlled voice ... Somehow he doubted it, and damn if something in him didn't seem to like that thought. 

Still, none of them had planned for all of this. Not even Vasil could have.

"Me?" Jeremy shrugged, uncomfortably. "If I didn't go too far ..." His mouth tightened. "We don't have to talk about it, Sal. I know you wouldn't normally want ..." He trailed off with a grimace.

"What?" Sal stared at him, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him now, because that sure had sounded like ... like ... like something Jeremy couldn't have meant. But with things so fraught already, he could hardly ask. Or could he? They'd come through this. They'd come this far. They were here, right now, together, and finally friends again. What could destroy this now? 

"I wouldn't want?" Sal quoted, squeezing Jeremy's shoulder a little. "What about you?"

Jeremy tensed under his hands. 

"Jer?"

Jeremy pressed his lips together. "You're not attracted to me," he said, very precisely. "To Vasil, maybe. Not to me."

Sal's eyes went wide. "Are you saying -" 

Jeremy ducked his head, not meeting his eyes. 

"Damn," Sal whispered, "you hid that well." Jeremy said nothing, simply sat there, tense and uncomfortable, and Sal couldn't stand it. "You're wrong," tore from his mouth.

"About?" Jeremy looked up at him through half-lowered eyelashes, and Sal was sure that if a vampire could have blushed, Jer would have managed it just then. But Sal was red enough for two. 

Sal had never put much of a priority on relationships and sex and all that stuff before; it had always seemed more hassle than it was worth. A nice jerk-off in the shower had been satisfying enough, most of the time. But last night ...

He shivered with the memory. And not just that. Even now, with Jeremy right here, his presence did things to him he'd never even considered before.

Sal took refuge in a glare. "I didn't know," he grumbled, and damn, he needed more time, needed space to think, but there wasn't any. There was only here and now, and he couldn't let this come between them, couldn't let Jeremy slip away from him again. "I always ignored that you're a vampire," he made himself admit. "I didn't know, all right?"

Jeremy's head slowly came up the rest of the way, and he was openly staring at Sal again, his bushy eyebrows pulled up. "You don't mean -"

"Jer," he interrupted, impatient and self-conscious. He had to force himself to look at Jeremy, straight on. "Just kiss me already."

Jeremy's eyes had gone as wide as they could, and his lips were parted. He licked his upper lip, buying time, and then he was leaning forward. "Are you sure?"

Someone had to do something, and apparently it was him. Sal curled a hand around the back of Jeremy's head and pulled him closer.

Jeremy met him half-way in the end. Cool lips against Sal's, a cool tongue brushing over his teeth, teasing into his mouth. Sal moaned. And then - yes - suddenly Jeremy's teeth extended, sharp vampiric fangs teasing against Sal's upper lip, the corners of his mouth.

Oh god, yes.

"That's all right?" Jeremy murmured when they came apart.

"Jer," Sal snapped. "Don't be coy. You could tell."

Jeremy snorted. "Just because you like it doesn't have to mean you want it. But you do, don't you?"

Sal was blushing even harder than before. "Apparently." 

"I'm glad." Jeremy pressed a kiss into his shoulder, right on top of one of Vasil's bite marks, then another. "I'm glad. We can figure this out."

"Yeah." Sal swallowed, hesitated briefly. _In for a penny, in for a pound._ "Jeremy - what about Vasil?"

A moment's hesitation. "What about him?" 

Sal couldn't fault Jeremy for not wanting to talk about Vasil just now. But they were still in Vasil's house, and they'd have to face him again, after everything. A dreadful thought, yet bizarrely, something in Sal's gut gave a pleased little shiver. 

"The two of you ...?"

"Ah." Jeremy ducked his head again. "Not really. Sort of. Not like this."

"You never mentioned." _Not like this._ It wasn't just Sal who'd discovered something new, then. That was a relief, somewhat.

Jeremy made a face at him. "Sal, come on. I tried to mention Vasil as little as possible. You always got into a huff about him." A wicked smirk. "Jealous, apparently. I should have guessed."

Sal stuck out his tongue. "I never got it, how you could admire him so much when you disagreed about basically every fundamental thing." He shrugged, a little helplessly. "Still don't get it. But he's ... well." He couldn't quite find the words, but the memories quivered over him, vividly.

God, what he'd let Vasil see - what he'd let him do -

Every bite mark on his body seemed to throb with the memory. Who did that? Who agreed to let someone terrify him out of his wits? Terrify, restrain, bite, fuck. Make him vulnerable, in every way. Let himself be taken. It was madness, and he'd done it anyway, and he couldn't even wish he hadn't.

It would have been madness enough, with a friend. Had been. With Vasil, of all people? What had he been thinking? There was no telling what Vasil would do with what he'd seen, what he now knew. Every vulnerable spot Sal possessed ...

Something in his gut fluttered at the thought.

"We don't have to agree," Jeremy said. "He's still my mentor. I'm still ..." A shrug. "He never pressured me, either. He respects convictions."

Not talking about last night, then. All right. 

Or had it even been night? "Hey, how long did we sleep? I've lost all sense of time."

"Huh?" Jeremy accepted the change in subject without baulking, much. He let go of Sal and leaned over to the bedside table, picking up his wristwatch. "Me too, apparently. It's about three a.m. now." He tilted his head, considering. "I got you from your bedroom around five in the morning; you woke up here around seven. I think you fell asleep some time around noon. I wasn't long after."

Sal blinked. "And slept for, what, fifteen hours?"

"Apparently. Well, I didn't get any sleep the day before. And you haven't slept well in weeks." Jeremy hesitated, grimaced. "Look. Before we go home, we really should talk to Vasil."

Vasil's name, from Jeremy's mouth, in that determined tone, sent a shiver over Sal's skin. Not the panicky kind, either. But was it a good idea, talking to Vasil right now? What was there to say?

Sal made a face at himself. _Thank you_ , if nothing else, if only for politeness' sake, bizarre though the idea was. Re-establishing boundaries. It would be horrifyingly embarrassing, but Vasil had helped him. All else aside, that was worth ... everything. 

"Is he even going to be awake at this time?"

Jeremy nodded. "If he's returning to his usual schedule, yes. He mostly sleeps during the day. I can check."

Sal found himself half hoping Vasil wouldn't be available, and half dreading that answer. If he didn't talk to him now, when would he work up the courage? 

How about never? Never sounded good.

But Jeremy's mind was made up. "Let's get dressed." He slipped out of bed and opened a wardrobe door, pointing. "Your stuff's in here."

Sal blinked. Jeremy had abducted him from his bed wearing only a pair of boxers. "You packed my clothes?"

"Of course I did." A wicked smirk. "I mean, I _could_ take you back the way I brought you here ..."

Sal snorted, and dragged himself out of bed just so he could jab his elbow into Jer's ribs.

  


* * *

  


The library again. Vasil was sitting in the armchair Jeremy had occupied the night before. The wooden chair Sal had been cuffed to had been removed, and replaced with an upholstered sofa in the same ornate style as the armchair.

"Good morning, sir," Jeremy greeted respectfully.

"Jeremy. Salvatore," Vasil greeted them as they approached him. 

"Vasil," Sal ground out by way of a greeting. It was a capitulation of sorts, calling him by his given name, but after everything they'd done - everything he'd let Vasil do to him - attempting to distance himself by using his last name would have been ridiculous.

Memories flashed through his mind at rapid-fire speed. He held them at bay until Vasil opened his mouth again, gesturing toward the sofa. "Do have a seat."

God, that voice. That _voice_ , coolly announcing what he would do to Sal. Directing Jeremy to touch Sal, to -

Abruptly, Sal sat down, his stomach churning with something he didn't want to examine too closely.

Vasil's eyes swept over him, cataloguing, and stopped at his throat. "You're wearing my bite marks all over you," he said, clearly satisfied with that fact.

Sal only scowled in return, refusing to avoid his gaze. It was surprisingly easy. Those marks should have bothered him, but the little twist his stomach gave at the reminder wasn't unhappy at all.

A small smile flickered over Vasil's lips. Unruffled by Sal's lack of an answer, he took a sip from an opaque cup. It might have been blood. It might have been anything else. 

"I'm pleased to see you're doing well, Salvatore," Vasil said calmly. "And I applaud you for admitting what you needed, rather than continuing to delude yourself." A brief flash of sharp fangs. "And you did need it. No question about that. Jeremy's assessment was entirely correct."

Sal's cheeks burned. "Thanks," he muttered, gracelessly. 

Vasil studied him for a long moment, then nodded to himself, turning to Jeremy. Vasil's finger tapped his cup, and he gave Jeremy a questioning look. Jeremy shook his head.

"Not going to offer me a drink?" Sal interjected, grasping for control.

"Of course." Vasil seemed unduly amused. "It's a quite decent vintage, though I believe most humans refrain from wine for breakfast." 

Alcohol didn't affect vampires much, and beverages were one of the few kinds of human sustenance they could still stomach, so vampires tended to drink with little restraint. But that wasn't all that was at play here.

Sal considered Vasil, wondering if he should let it go. But that opaque vessel wasn't an accident, not in Vasil's hand. And neither was the choice of meeting-place. _All right, Vasil. Let's play your game._ "You like making people nervous."

Beside him, Jeremy coughed into his hand.

"Clearly," Vasil said drily. "After yesterday, that can hardly be news to you."

True enough; Sal nodded his concession. His heart was hammering, but his head was clear. He could feel Vasil's presence, much stronger than Jeremy's, but it didn't overwhelm him. Fear might be shivering over him - fear, and something else - but he had himself under control. He could do this. "That's rather incompatible with your campaign, isn't it?"

Vasil raised his eyebrows for a second in mock surprise, the lines on his forehead rounding with it. Then he pursed his lips. "I do attempt to restrain myself, Salvatore. Some things are better kept private. Don't you agree?"

Sal snorted. If Vasil thought Sal would walk out of here and spread any of this around, he'd never have agreed to do it in the first place. But still, that possibility always remained, unlikely though Vasil must have judged it. And he'd done it anyway. "I want to know why."

"Why what, precisely?" Vasil's eyes were knowing. Making him speak it out loud, again. After yesterday, that, too, wasn't a surprise.

"Why you agreed to this," Sal said steadily. "It was a risk for all of us, in different ways. But for your political goals, well. You have rather a lot to lose. And you know I wouldn't shed a tear if your campaign collapsed. Not even Jeremy would, much. So, why?"

He didn't mean it as a threat of blackmail. He still half expected Vasil to take it as such. But Vasil merely smiled. 

"Jeremy asked."

Jer sucked in a breath. "Sir ..."

"You did, my dear. Did you think I would refuse you?"

"Yes, you would," Sal said, before Jeremy could. "If you had reason." He turned to his friend - lover? god, this was weird - and added, "He does like you a lot. You know that, right? Did I mention he actually accosted me and told me to get a grip on myself, for your sake if not my own?"

Vasil showed no reaction as Jeremy's eyebrows went up, his eyes flickering between his mentor and Sal. 

"He did?" There was genuine surprise in Jeremy's voice.

"Yeah. Just before we had that talk." Sal smirked. "But that's not all."

Jeremy looked between the two of them again, clearly trying to puzzle out Sal's meaning and coming up empty.

"No?" Vasil said eventually, his tone all mocking. _He_ obviously hadn't come up empty. And he was enjoying himself.

Part of Sal wondered if it was wise to push this. They were still in Vasil's house, on his territory. And after everything that had happened here, Sal couldn't help but be at a disadvantage, here. Oh, who was he kidding? In a trap, if Vasil so chose. Which he likely wouldn't, but that didn't change the fact that he could. Vasil knew his every weakness, now.

But Sal couldn't quite regret it, not even in the face of that. Vasil knew _everything_ , but Vasil had already known too much to start with. And at any rate, there was no turning back.

Vasil had seen him lost and panicked and turned on, and he'd held him through it, and guided Jeremy in his attempt to redirect Sal's instincts. There was no privacy left to Sal now, no shameful secret he hadn't exposed, no deep-hidden reaction Vasil hadn't already drawn from him. 

"It was a risk," Sal repeated quietly. "I took it because I'd have lost everything, if I hadn't. Because there was nothing else I could think to try. Jeremy was grasping at straws just as much as me. You? You don't even like me. Even for Jeremy, that would have been a hell of a thing to do. Why?"

He forced himself to meet Vasil's dark eyes head-on. _You owe me,_ he thought. _I showed you everything. Give me something in return, damn it._

He was aware he was dancing at the edge of hysteria. Where had his self-control gone? But this was still clarity. He knew what he was doing. He wasn't panicking. This was a different kind of despair.

Jeremy's hand closed over his knee, clearly aiming for reassurance. It wasn't enough.

 _Give me something. Anything at all. Don't leave me like this._ He couldn't speak the words, couldn't expose himself even more. But inside his mind, he was begging.

Vasil regarded him thoughtfully, reading god knew what on his face. Eventually, he spoke. "You know something now of what I enjoy. Though I will admit I know more of yours. Call it an incentive."

Right. Vasil had _liked_ getting the chance to do all that to him. Something quivered inside Sal at the thought. But that couldn't have been reason enough. "And?" Sal demanded. Begged.

An almost diffident shrug. "I didn't think we had anything in common, you and I."

"Apart from Jeremy?" Sal's mouth retorted, on autopilot, as his mind tried to read Vasil's meaning.

"Apart from Jeremy, yes." Vasil smiled. "You've proven me wrong, Salvatore. I am ... surprised." 

He didn't _look_ surprised. He looked fascinated. Pleased. Did that mean -?

"Oh," Sal said, inanely. 

Jeremy had asked. And Vasil had said yes, not just because it was Jeremy who had asked, but because _Sal_ had managed to intrigue him with the idea. With his willingness to attempt something so drastic, so risky - to put himself into Vasil's hands, for his very sanity's sake.

After denying he needed any help at all, only days before.

"Oh," Vasil returned, voice dripping with irony.

He'd needed help, and Vasil had given it. Admitting that he needed it had been reason enough. Sal swallowed heavily, and something shifted in his mind, an unbidden change of perspective. He was seeing something only vampires had seen before: Vasil Sofiansky the mentor. It was a side of Vasil he'd never wanted to contemplate, one he'd purposely ignored: the vampire who, in all the many decades of his existence, had always mentored others, had always offered a hand to those in need of one. 

Other vampires, of course. That he had now extended a hand to a hunter, of all people, was stunning. In the midst of a campaign to abolish just that kind of hunter, no less. They were - always would be - on the opposite of a fundamental divide, on that issue.

But it hadn't come between Vasil and Jeremy, and it hadn't stopped Vasil from helping him, when he'd found that he could.

"Thank you," Sal whispered, hoarsely, earnestly this time. He owed Vasil more than he'd thought. An apology, for one, since he'd suspected a rather worse ulterior motive.

"Any time." Matter-of-fact, as if there was nothing to it.

"It wouldn't work again," Sal muttered, bending his head. "Not the same way."

Vasil's eyes sharpened, and Sal realised belatedly that it had been a phrase, that it hadn't been meant quite that literally. Or had it? Sal's heart was suddenly hammering again. A drop of sweat tickled as it rolled down his temple.

It was true, though, wasn't it? Sal knew with sudden clarity that nothing was ever going to be this good again. This real. It was already gone now, the immersion of it. He wasn't terrified now. He might be terrified again, if he let himself; Vasil and Jeremy might wring pleasure out of his terror again; but he would never again be able to sink quite that deeply into the fear.

And suddenly, he ached for it. It was a loss, unexpectedly and shockingly, and he desperately yearned for more. More of something he knew he couldn't quite have.

 _Quite._ But still -

Shame came with the yearning. God. They knew, didn't they? Both of them. Sal wasn't sure which was more embarrassing: that Jeremy knew, or that Vasil did. But there was no turning back. There was only the question of what they'd do with it now.

"I know," Vasil said simply, calmly, just as Jeremy's thumb, soothingly, stroked over the side of his knee. 

Sal swallowed convulsively, and grasped for a decision. "You did it because Jeremy asked." Everything else had come after that. 

"Yes."

 _Jeremy_ had started it. Would Vasil even have listened to someone else? Would he now, intrigued though he might be? In the end, it was still Jeremy who had asked, and Jeremy who Vasil's concern had been for, if Sal couldn't overcome his problems. Helping Sal was helping Jeremy, after all. 

Sal's hand closed tightly over Jeremy's where it lay on his knee, grasping for reassurance. Holding on for dear life. Sal had piqued Vasil's interest enough to let him set aside the risk, but if it hadn't been for Jeremy, could it possibly have been enough? _Not bloody likely._

And now? Possibilities shivered through the back of Sal's mind. His skin felt raw. Did he dare? Could he? Never mind should - he'd moved out of the territory of _should_ the moment he'd agreed to any of this. _Should_ no longer applied.

Sal swallowed again, his throat dry and constricted. This was madness. He knew it.

"If I was the one who asked," he ground out anyway, "would you do it again?"

Jeremy let out a sharp, startled noise, and under Sal's hand, Jeremy's fingers tightened on Sal's knee. Vasil's eyes flickered to Jeremy for a fraction of a second; then he considered Sal, long and deliberate. He didn't bother to remind Sal that it wouldn't, couldn't, be the same. 

Not the same, no, but oh god, even so, Sal _wanted_. With every heartbeat that passed, his nerves fluttered more. His eyes were glued to Vasil's face, and all he could do was wait.

"Yes," said Vasil, after a long pause.


End file.
